


Rock Me Amadeus

by Pimento



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon, Canon Divergent, Comfort, Cuddling, Destiel - Freeform, Established Relationship, Fluff, Happy, Loving Castiel, M/M, Mention of sex, PWP, Short & Sweet, Spooning, Sweet, romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 18:17:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8543959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pimento/pseuds/Pimento
Summary: Prompt: Rock Me Amadeus - FalcoA relaxed, sunny morning after the night before...





	

The sun shone through the window falling in golden squares across the floor and the edge of the bed. Dean flexed his toes where it’s rays heated the skin of his foot. His long tanned legs extended and relaxed across the bed, where he lay on his belly, tangled in crisp white sheets, eyelids blinking languorous and heavy as Cas ran his fingers through the short dirty blonde hair at the nape of his neck. He moved his face closer to the warmth of Cas’ hip and tapped his nose to the flesh, breathing in the mixture of ozone and sweetness that was peculiar to Cas. “Tell me ‘nother one,” he murmured, lips brushing against the angel’s thigh, causing it to twitch, his voice already thick with sleep.

The air was stodgy and humid with the promised heat of another sultry Southern day. Cas waved his other hand in a lazy gesture and the air-con clicked into action, the coolness of the breeze that rolled up Dean’s torso, causing a ripple of goosebumps to raise under its flow. He shuddered and Cas rolled forward from his position sitting against the headboard to pull the draped sheet further up his exposed back, pausing only to plant a soft kiss on the heated bronze between Dean’s shoulder blades. He licked the taste of salt from his lips.

A single arm snaked up and over his waist as he slid down the bed, pulling him tighter and under the sheets, the contented sigh from the perfect bow of lips rifling the hairs on the back of his head, as he allowed himself to be manoeuvred back into the curved spoon of Dean’s body. The ‘please. Cas,’ was lost into the sensitive point behind his ear, but he understood the words nonetheless. He had once confessed to Dean, that after the angels withdrew from Earth and were isolated in heaven for nigh on two millenia, he had indulged his fascination with humans by visiting their heavens trying to understand them better. 

It had become a guilty pleasure, as they lay together, blissed out, sated and relaxed. Dean drowsy beside him as he waited for the shift in his breathing when the post coital calm translated into contented sleep. Cas told him the stories of the souls he had met, the rumbling of his voice, leaching from his chest into the pads of Dean’s fingertips as they flexed against his ribs. He scouted his memory for source material.

“Mozart was not as decadent or as debauched as his reputation,” he began softly. Dean hummed low in his throat and the muscles in his arm twitched as the fingers splayed over Cas' heart flexed gently into his skin. “In his heaven, he surrounded himself with his children. He wore his softest clothes, and instead of the tiny infants, or grown men they were when they died, in his heaven all six of them survived. He sat at his clavier, while Constanze lay on a chaise and his children reposed around them. His perfect brood, playing with toys or reading their books. His daughter Anna Marie curled into his side, sucking her thumb and flicking her hair against his arm. His whole life he lived at full tilt, but his heaven was filled with music, and sunshine and children’s laughter. It was quite beautiful.”

Dean’s breathing had eased into something deeper and softer, the tiny catch in his throat indicating his drift into sleep. Cas shifted carefully onto his back, smiling softly as Dean instinctively gripped him tighter without really waking. He wriggled and used his grace to shift them into his favourite position. Dean’s head resting on his chest, warm breath ghosting over his skin. Cas draped one arm down the muscular back, fingertips resting in the small dip just above the soft doughy mound of Dean’s buttock. His other hand tucked behind his own head, occasionally moving to stroke Dean’s hair or the bristly stubble of his cheek when he stirred in his slumber. Their legs tangled, he watched the moving patchwork of sunlight counting time across the bed as the day drifted past.


End file.
